As I looked round our little company, I
noted how deep the thing had bitten into our souls. Ringan's eyes still
danced with that unholy blue light. Grey was very pale, and his jaw was
set grimly. Bertrand had ceased from sobbing, and his face had the
far-away wildness of the fanatic, such a look as his forbears may have
worn at the news of St. Bartholomew. The big man Donaldson looked
puzzled and sombre. Only Shalah stood impassive and aloof, with no
trace of feeling on the bronze of his countenance.
"This is the place for an oath," I said. "We are six men against an
army, but we fight for a holy cause. Let us swear to wipe out this deed
of blood in the blood of its perpetrators. God has made us the
executors of His judgments against horrid cruelty."
We swore, holding our hands high, that, when our duty to the dominion
was done, we should hunt down the Cherokees who had done this deed till
no one of them was left breathing. At that moment of tense nerves, no
other purpose would have contented us.
"How will we find them?" quoth Ringan. "To sift a score of murderers
out of a murderous nation will be like searching the ocean for a wave."
Then Shalah spoke.
"The trail is ten suns old, but I can follow it.
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